Under the Sable Cloak
by SmedleyButler
Summary: After learning of the death of his brother, Boromir, Faramir reminisces about a childhood conflict involving betrayal, a great feast, and a Great Eagle.


Under the Sable Cloak

I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien and son of Denethor. I am a ranger of Ithilien and defender of Osgiliath, second born of my father in the long line of the House of Húrin. My brother is dead.

Boromir is dead, but he is not gone from my heart. We were, for all my life—and will always remain—brothers. I have not known much happiness in all my years, but my brother was a small source of it to me—though I did not always remember it. In fact, I recall a time when I most hated him, more than I have ever hated anyone before, including our father. And yet, later that very same day, I loved him once again, as he always was thoughtful of me.

I do not believe I was but 12 years old, and Boromir 17, when this occurred. I had not yet begun my training, but Boromir was already a skilled swordsman and a natural rider. Upon a morning, before Boromir reported for training, we walked as we often did along the bluffs of Mount Mindolluin above Minas Tirith. What we spoke of this particular morning I do not recall, but we came across a peculiar sight that I shall never forget. It was an egg, larger than I had ever seen, and burnished gold and smeared with the dust from the surrounding rocks in such a way as to make it appear as a remnant of ages past. It lay in the middle of our path, with a fine crack spreading lengthwise.

"What is this!" said Boromir, picking it up from the ground.

"Dragon's egg?" I ventured.

"It can't be," he said. "There haven't been dragons in these parts for centuries. And you've read the lore; dragon eggs are green, like emeralds."

We debated a while more about what it could be, but in the end we had to admit to each other that we knew nothing about the great beasts of Arda, save our own steeds. I agreed to keep guard of it and wrapped it in my cloak as Boromir departed for his training.

I knew not whether to fear or care for the thing, but nevertheless I crafted an eyrie out of the sun-bleached fallen branches and dried clay that lay scattered about the bluffs. And before even three days' time, the thing hatched. It was, faultless, a hatchling of the Great Eagles of the Misty Mountains, frail and feeble in its first hours of life, and yet its noble heart I sensed immediately. This was, upon my faith, of far greater value than anything I had ever held in my possession. Covering the eyrie with my cloak, I stole back to the citadel in search for some rations that might befit a creature of that high race. Yet as I entered the Court of the Fountain, I came upon my father and my brother, sitting in conversation under the White Tree.

"My son," I heard my father say, "you are fast becoming a masterful warrior, as I knew you would. You will soon be named High Captain of Gondor, and so I bequeath to you the Great Horn of the House of Stewards. In your hands, may it herald mighty victories and bring honor upon our house."

I watched Boromir bow his head and receive the white horn, tipped with silver and gleaming like a precious jewel. Long had it hung in the great hall upon the wall, and although I knew that only first-born sons had ever possessed it, I nonetheless never passed it without gazing upon it with admiration.

I slipped out of the courtyard unseen, but an unusual sadness befell me. It was as if I had lost something, or as if a cover of loneliness weighed upon me heavily. Boromir had always been my closest companion, and yet now there was an unspoken separation between us. I thought how proud he must be to inherit the Great Horn and to soon be High Captain, a pride that I would never know.

As the weeks passed by, I watched our nestling grow into its feathers. It was unable to fly yet, and we had yet to hear it speak words as the lore said Great Eagles could. I found myself grown quite attached to it, and we often passed the night huddled in the eyrie together. Boromir, however, was less patient, though he loved the bird too. Father now watched over him closely, mentoring his progress and bestowing token after token; to Boromir passed the shield and steel sword, both once wielded by Denethor I. So too did he receive the ruby ring that Father had worn every day since I could remember, and the sable wolf-fur cloak—I received no such gifts, save the common sword and shield given to every young boy at the start of his training.

It fast became winter, and still our feathered charge had not strength enough to fly or speak. I felt a great fault for its shortcomings, as I was the one who looked after it. And although I had begun my training, I abandoned the lessons to double my care with the great bird. It was on one such afternoon, quieted by the chill of winter, that Boromir came upon me in the eyrie. Yet he was not alone—Father was at his side. Immediately I sprang to my feet, and caught unawares I tripped upon the branches and fell, nearly crushing our eagle.

"What is the meaning of this?" said Father. "Your lessons you have deserted, and for what? To laze about in some ill-assembled bed and watch the clouds pass by? Your life passes faster, you will soon learn! Get up!"

"He is not resting idly, he guards a great treasure," said Boromir, and at once I was betrayed, for somehow I sensed that no good could come of Father's knowledge about the eagle.

"Indeed, I do not!" I refuted, but Father wrenched me aside to reveal the precious thing, still no larger than a roosting hen.

Father stared at it wordlessly, for he surely had never seen anything like it before. I looked to Boromir for aid, but he offered no words of defense.

"I am not surprised," said Father finally, "that you waste your time like this. Boromir works hard at his training, as a son of the House of Stewards should. And he will lead our country to many victories and carve his name into the halls of our fathers, where it will shine with all the glory that he has won. But should _you_ carve your name there, Faramir, it would be out of place. I will not have you desecrate the House of Húrin with this indolence! Boromir! Seize it from him!"

"It is not simply a bird! It is a Great Eagle of the Misty Mountains!" I protested.

"I care not that it is. The eagles are self-serving and have done nothing to defend our people. We are nothing to them, and so they are nothing to us. Boromir!" said Father.

And Boromir stood a while contemplating, but at last did as he was told. He took the bird and wrapped it in his cloak.

"Have it killed," said Father. "I think the butchers can make a nice carving out of it."

As I sat paralyzed in the dirt, I watched them go down the road back to the Tower of Ecthelion, and the winter storm clouds gathered overhead, darkling and heavy on my heart.

It was not until the late evening that I arrived home. Boromir stopped me in the courtyard, where I suspect he had been waiting long hours in the dark for my return. Blinded by anger, I would neither let him have the first words nor allow him to explain himself.

"You are much changed," I spat at him, "and poisoned by our own father. Do you not see that he fills you with the same lust for pride and glory that fills himself? He has bought your love with tokens and twisted you against me! I have always loved you, brother, but now that love has been torn asunder. And now, may this reckless, evil deed haunt you forever, and may all your victories be no comfort for your cold heart." I left him in the courtyard and went into the dinner hall, but he followed close behind.

Entering the hall, we found Father at table, with a large platter placed in front of him. I had no uncertainty what it was that lay on top of it.

"Ah, my sons," Father said. "I have waited up for you. A feast as pleasing as this must be shared."

I did not approach the table but remained where I was in the entryway. I had no words to say to him for his unnecessary malice.

"Faramir, you must be hungry," said Father.

I shook my head no, and tears of hatred blurred my sight.

"What a shame. A meal like this comes once in a lifetime. It is a disgrace to let it go untouched." With that he took up the knife and carved a jagged portion of the roasted meat. I did not bear to watch him consume it, for I felt that a wicked crime was being committed in our house that would forever leave us cursed. But I could not block that sound of his chewing, the metallic scrape of the fork between his teeth, the sticky grinding of the sacred flesh, and the swift crack of a bone he forgot to pick out.

Suddenly he stopped chewing, and with his mouth still full, he called, "Boromir, come here. Come and try a little bit."

I turned to my brother aghast, but he kept still and looked straight on, unflinching.

"Come!" Father said.

At last Boromir stepped across the hall to the banquet table. Father handed him his fork, a piece of glistening meat speared on the tines. He took it, held it for a moment, then raised it to his mouth, and ate it.

"Swallow," Father said, and he swallowed.

All the while I stared horrified at Boromir, and disgust coursed through my veins to the very tips of my extremities, though of my father or my brother, I did not know whom I hated most.

Betrayal of this kind I had never known, and worst of all was that it came from my own kin, and from Boromir, my once-beloved brother.

At last they had eaten their fill, and the bones lay upon the pewter plate like a ravished maiden, stripped of all honor and dignity.

Father retired to his chambers with every show of a despicable contentedness, but Boromir stayed seated. I approached the table at last, removed the plate, and left the hall with it.

Boromir had followed close behind. The air was cold now, as the night of early winter set in. "Where are you going?" he called.

I continued without answering, but the Silent Street we followed led only to one place. Soon we reached the Hallows, where the Kings and Stewards of Gondor were laid to rest. Yet between the two soundless mausoleums, the House of Kings and the House of Stewards, I knew not where to turn; though I held the noble bones of a highborn race, we had nowhere to lay them.

"Give me that platter, Faramir," Boromir said behind me.

"No. I am going to give him a proper burial, as a Great Eagle deserves," I spoke to the darkness.

"You are a fool, brother," Boromir said, "For not all things are as they seem. You say my allegiance has been bought by gifts of weapons and jewels, yet they are only tokens to ornament a distant age. I have done nothing to deserve them for they were once worn by kings, and they are but shows of Father's capricious favor. And so too are these bones but for appearance. You have been too hurried with your hatred for me, for they are the bones not of a Great Eagle but of a common cockerel!"

"A…a what?" I stammered, incredulous.

He grinned and shook his head at my foolishness. "You did not think I would let Father get what he wanted? It was an easy switch. Follow me," he said.

He turned and disappeared into the biting night, and I trailed behind. We climbed higher up Mindolluin, and white flakes began to fall along the path without a sound. At last the trail flattened, and I looked around for Boromir who stood over a dark bundle; it was his sable fur cloak. He unfolded it and lay it upon the ground flat, and behold, our fledgling lay upon it. Yet it was not harmed, and at once it stood and raised its head aloft. I sensed a change in its figure, for no longer did it appear small and weak; its sleek shape showed all signs of health and vigour, and its golden feathers glimmered in the moonlight like wildfire. This was, undeniably, a Great Eagle, messenger of Manwë, ruler of the sky.

It unfolded its slender wings and tested them, vaulting and bounding a few feet in the air as a northerly wind mounted stronger and fiercer. I knew the time had come for it to be free, as all wild things must be. The desperate happiness I had felt about its safety only moments before had now been snatched away by a bitter sadness. As at last it spread its wings and departed from the cliff, Boromir settled the fur cloak around my shoulders and together we watched our eagle fly. It was but a shadow now against the pale snowfall, soaring with an inimitable grace above the seven rivers of Gondor. Finally its shape disappeared, yet the majesty of our view was not diminished, for we beheld the moon, full and familiar, breaking the storm clouds and casting its soft light over all that was good, and for a fleeting moment the harshness of the world vanished into nothing.


End file.
